


A curious order

by nimucchii



Series: Echoes of an Aeon [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, Inspired by Dungeons & Dragons, No Dungeons & Dragons Knowledge Required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimucchii/pseuds/nimucchii
Summary: Saile'thalle Vasille is a Sentinel; a cleric with divine powers in service of the Matron, goddess of death among other things. Through circumstance, however, she's deemed to be the best candidate to help out two Archmages sent by the League to investigate a case of theft which may have dire consequences if not handled in time and properly, thus beginning the hunt for the artefact in question. What they might uncover during their journey, though, might shed some new light onto their mission.
Series: Echoes of an Aeon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603909





	A curious order

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is the first chapter of a work which I plan to be quite lengthy; the story itself is inspired by dungeons & dragons partially, but no actual knowledge is required of the game or related universes, as the world is entirely mine, and everything I took inspiration from (mainly the gods and schools of magic), I tweaked a lot. This means, however, that the story might be a bit lore-heavy at parts, especially at the beginning (which is basically this chapter), as it's sort of in medias res, but everything will clear out nicely - some things later, some sooner (I do try to not just... dump 200 pages worth of worldbulding into one chapter)! I do hope you'll enjoy!  
> (Hopefully I'll also figure out how to include a map!)

The clacking sound of her boots against the black marble echoed in an all-too familiar manner as the grand doors closed behind her, snow falling from her dark cloak onto the heavy, long carpet with every step as she swept the hood off her head, ash blonde strands escaping the slightly tangled, messy ponytail they were thrown into. Cold light shone through the mosaic windows, the clouded winter sky visible through the abstract depictions of the Matron. The Cathedral was mostly empty, save the three people behind the ornate altar, whom she approached with long strides, determination glinting in her ice blue eyes despite the telling dark circles around them. Candlelight flickered between the embellishments, casting dim light in the tall halls of the goddess of death, fate and winter, the blue spider lilies seemingly never fading in their adorned vases. A quiet, sombrely beautiful and elegant display.

– Your Reverence. – she huffed, slightly out of breath, nodding towards the stocky man who watched her approach with relief, one calloused finger playing with the edges of the letter on the altar. – I came as soon as I could, but the issues around Dolrial required me to delay a few days. How can I serve the Promise?

– It is of no issue, Sentinel Vasille. – he coughed shortly, eyes briefly darting towards his companions. – Your urgency was asked as to not make our guests wait. Two representatives from Alari Dorei, Archmages Lyndis Dorvalur and Erlathan Leorieth, here to investigate what we know of the incident near the Pillar in Avalas. You served around the city when the attack happened then hurried there to help, yes?

– Correct, your Reverence. – another small, sharp nod, eyes studying the introduced mages, then falling back on the Reverend. – Although I’m afraid I don’t know much. When I arrived, the Pillar already fell, so I focused on the aftermath and tended to the wounded or gave last rites. I saw the Skyriders flee, if that counts for anything. I could describe them, but that’s the extent of my knowledge on the matter.

– That is exactly why we need you, Sentinel. – The woman, previously introduced as Lyndis, ran her glassy gaze over her. _A drow_ , she thought in the small second’s worth of silence after the mage’s words. Dark, blueish grey skin, elegant features framed by long, wavy strands of black hair which reached her waist. The fur-lined white cloak fell over delicate shoulders, and the rich, silver embroidery of her not-so-practical robes suggested that she wasn’t really prepared for travel, yet she did not seem weary. Her posture was as confident as her voice, in sharp contrast with her lithe figure. – The Raven’s Gaze informed us that you had a special… knack, so to say, for speaking with the departed, even more so than the majority of your order. During the attack, the Custodians captured a nyathan Skyrider, who later decided that being dead is better than being a deserter, so they drank poison, prepared in advance in case they get caught. They likely hold information that we can use to retrieve the Key which they stole. The fact that you know how they look is also a great asset.

– Given your heightened attunement to the dead, you are the most likely to deceive them. – The tall elven man spoke now, Erlathan, as the Reverend said, softer spoken than Lyndis, but no less self-assured. Dark olive complexion, chiselled features with well-kept strands of stark white, straight hair swept to his right, the embers of his eyes burning molten gold, just like his robes, extravagant damask layers with a daring cut at the chest revealing a carefully tailored white turtleneck, exquisite travelling boots peeking from under the heavy hem, which hasn’t seen much wear and a fur cape which looked nice but not too warm. He appeared to be dressed a bit more for travel at first glance, but definitely not on horseback. – You know how to converse with them with much more ease than we might, and that also means you stand a higher prospect at deceiving them. If we know names and approximate descriptions, we have a better chance of smoothing this situation over with Nyath Ennore and avoid a full-blown war, which is very much what the League strives for. We ask for your help due to your superiors’ recommendation. Should further matters arise where your proficiency with the dead is needed, we ask that you accompany us to Alari Dorei and help us with the investigation.

Silence fell on them for a moment, only to be disturbed by the Reverend’s barely-stifled, ragged sigh. Her eyes travelled from the woman to the man in a languid manner, expression betraying no thoughts, even though she had many at that moment, and none of them too positive. This was a polite way of giving an order, and she had no delusions of having a choice.

– If it is by the order of the Raven’s Gaze, then I’d be honoured to provide my services to you and help with the case to the best of my ability. The name’s Saile’thalle Vasille, should you need to call me, but if you prefer using ranks, Sentinel Vasille is more than enough. – she rasped, a small half-bow accompanying her words, just enough to cater to the expected formalities, then turned towards the Reverend. – Am I to leave the Enclave by higher command, your Reverence? I have yet to write a report on the happenings around the Dolrial Woods and the Revenant.

– It is by higher command, yes. – the man gulped, quickly folding the letter on the altar then handed it to her, the broken seal forming two ravens in the blue wax. – High Sentinel Ludan has specifically entrusted you to serve the mages in this delicate matter. He has high hopes that you shall be an excellent mediator between us and the League with your experience and your involvement with the incident itself. The report about Dolrial can wait a little.

The words came out of his mouth like he has been spending weeks without water, a powerless croak, clearly intimidated by the archmages’ presence, clumsy fingers fumbling with the hem of his own robes, twirling an errant thread sticking out from the edge of the slightly worn blue fabric. It wasn’t too comical of a reaction, but definitely a bit overblown; the majority of the populace never really get to meet an archmage in their life, let alone two, so some fear mixed with awe is usual – definitely not this much, though. Especially given that the luckier folk don’t meet Sentinels either, and the Reverend was working with them all the time. She huffed, but decided not to comment, as the archmages watched her and only her, gazes not telling of a single thought.

– Very well. I suggest we don’t delay more, then. – her gaze did not leave the guests as she put the letter between the folds of her prayer book. – I assume the body has been transported here for quicker access?

– To your catacombs, yes. – Lyndis spoke, and the Reverend took this as a clue to lead the way, three elves closely following him into the spacious sacristy and then down a worn, slightly damp and cold winding staircase, the only light provided on the small journey by a single torch in the man’s grasp. – I have to say, it is quite impressive, even compared to the necropolis under Alari Dorei. The Ebony Enclave’s dungeons truly seem to be the biggest resting place for the dead, just as the stories tell it. Spectacular, beyond doubt.

– My Lady, do forgive me but your fascination makes you sound like a necromancer. – Saile’thalle was sharp, maybe sometimes a bit too sharp, like in this instance, and other times a bit too dull, like a few moments before. The Reverend hitched and stopped, hands shaking, and it suddenly dawned on her; he was not afraid by the mere presence of two archmages. He was afraid of letting necromancers into their sacred lairs.

The atmosphere seemed to freeze for a second as they came to an abrupt halt, but the Reverend collected himself remarkably soon and continued his journey. She hesitated for a second, glancing back, but followed suit, judging that a slick stairwell was not the best place for argument. Besides, she had her orders from Ludan himself. The High Sentinel must have his reasons.

– I am, without a doubt. Headmistress of the Spire of Seeing in Alari Dorei. – while she could not see her expression, the tone of her voice suggested a great deal of pride. – Don’t be afraid, I am more than aware of your order’s opinions regarding the type of magic I dedicated my life in research of. I do not condone the desecration that many of my ilk partake in, but necromancy is far from only being about raising the dead. High Sentinel Ludan would not have approved of me visiting such a place without knowing my true intentions, of that I am more than sure.

– And you, Sir? – the question sounded a bit snappier than it was intended to, making her way to the end of the staircase in a bit more of a hurry. Not necessarily on edge, but definitely not in an entirely relaxed manner. – May I ask your specific field of study? I do not mean to be tactless, it is simply more straightforward to ask now rather than be… surprised later on.

– An interesting way to word your inquiry, lacing it with subtle threats. – Erlathan let out a chuckle, traces of amusement discernible from it, but for a second, Saile’thalle thought that she’s imagining that. – I am an Abjurer and Aegis of Hyth Alora, though that’s a title of little importance now. The League believed it was more than enough to send one necromancer to rile up the Promise of Winter, so they decided that some compensation of power is in order. Sufficient enough answer, you think?

She gave no response, clawed half-gauntlets resembling of a raven’s feet grasping the edge of her cloak in need to fumble with something. Soon enough, they reached the end of the stairs, engulfed in a newfound silence, noticeably more tense than it was before. _I have to look through the letter as soon as possible_ , she thought, imagining all that was left unsaid by the Reverend, being afraid to give more information to a necromancer than it was necessary. Ludan was a man of extraordinary faith. If he approved, there was no question to be asked. _Right?_

The catacombs were much more dry than the staircase leading to it, the stone perfectly sealing out the never-melting snow of Cyren Ennore, but the cold remained, seeping under their clothes like an unpleasant, gripping sensation, and Saile’thalle could have sworn she saw Erlathan shiver just for a second. Not Lyndis, though, who seemed to be in her element between the rows and rows of elaborate sarcophagus. Worn names written in ancient elven littered the edges of the resting places of many, parts of the walls made out of skulls and other bones – human, elven, dwarven, all organized in such perfection as to not fall by even the hands of an unlikely earthquake. Other parts reflected expert stonework, most likely dwarven, though their age made it hard to discern their origins. The dusty smell was almost misleading, but there was just a hint of something not quite easy to grasp, yet there enough for the knowledgeable people to discern that this is a place of eternal rest and great sanctity. Countless corridors, making this place into a labyrinth as well, hiding countless rooms – crypts, underground sanctums and the like, impossible to remember all of them if one does not dedicate their life to these underground halls. Torchlight, present but not too strong, shed light in the hallways just enough to see where one may step but not so overwhelming as to disturb the peace of the darkness.

The silence was something Saile’thalle became accustomed to in the last few decades. She found it familiar now, pleasant even, leaving space for her to think and be by herself. The dead never disturbed her, as she never interrupted their rest either. A mutual respect, she liked to think. It was also a place where she felt closest to the Matron herself, almost as if she watched the catacombs more intently than anything else.

A few minutes of quiet but fast walking led them to a small chamber, more lit than others, melting wax dripping onto the floors from many candles scattered across small perches on the walls and the stone floor, surrounding a plain, long slab of granite where a body was laid, the small and practical spell not letting rot take it just yet quite apparent to her eyes. Tattered clothing of different fabrics, a mishmash of matted furs and a delicate white cloth obscuring the face, but the horns peeking out from under it told almost his entire tale. The Reverend quietly lit some incense, then backed up towards the entrance, letting the elves fill the room.

– So it’s names you need, correct? – A small clink was heard as she placed both hands on one side of the body, inhaling deeply.

– And anything else you can get out of them. Locations, orders, anything. – Lyndis spoke, calm and collected, like she was explaining a task to one of her students. Saile’thalle nodded, then closed her eyes, shifting her mind, muttering words holy to her goddess in a pray as to let her connect to this one whom she claimed already, just for a few minutes before they lay the body to its final rest.

When she opened her eyes, the candles were blown out and she was alone in the chamber – alone, save the red-skinned tiefling who sat up at the stone slab, staring at her with vacant eyes. A question seemed to play at their dried lips, but they never escaped as the slowly twisting fumes of incense seemed to pass through their ethereal form. Their own body laid beneath them, still wrapped in the same clothes. A moment of pause settled between them as she was preparing her questions in advance, trying to keep a hostile soul calm. She was confident, but every time she seemed to dance on the edge of the Veil, this indescribable sensation of nervousness took hold of her. It was colder than usual, yet her palms began to sweat.

“Your death was brave. Were you not afraid to sacrifice yourself for your people?”, she asked, the question not leaving her lips but her conscious, floating around them in this shifted plane of existence.

“I knew the risks. You southerners may believe us foolish, but we know what we fight for.” The answer was almost a spit, dripping with venom.

“No, I don’t think you’re foolish. The Living Vale is rightfully angry. You want your own Ley, and you hate us for restricting the flow of it. I think your sentiment is right. The problem is that you are all ill-informed. Did you know that a Key is not enough to redirect parts of the web?” She was calm, at least she tried her best to appear so, speaking softly but not condescendingly. “You need a carefully set up Chamber, a thing that requires difficult to understand rituals, things that only cyran mages know how to do in detail, and they guard their secrets very well.” A true statement. She winced slightly at the unsolicited memory nagging at the edge of her conscious, but subdued it quickly. No time to wallow in such thoughts.

“And how would a priestess know that?” Another jab of words, uttered with such intent as to hurt her pride. Good thing she had no such thing anymore, at least not in this sense.

“As you said, I’m only a cleric. I understand your sentiment and I support it, but a Key without containment will cause many casualties. They hold power that is unimaginable to people like you and me. What I do know is that saving people, regardless of nationality, is my main priority. And you can help me save the people you died for.” Evasion and half-truth, wrapped in assurances and promises like the best deceptions. She did want to save people regardless of anything, in any way she could, be it helping with grief, mending wounds or giving a prayer for their soul to reach their true destination in safety. This specific case was not her main priority, though.

The answer delayed, and even though the cold sweat trickling down the nape of her neck, she knew she’s breaking through. It’s not the hardest thing in the world to utter honeyed promises to people still mourning their own death, no matter how willingly they jumped into it. _You will soon rest peacefully, soldier_ , she thought, her hazing vision hanging on the conflicted, hollow face of theirs. _May you find your way back to the living in less trying times._ How long they sat there in complete stillness, she couldn’t tell.

“I want my people to live. We starve without the Ley, but I don’t want them to die in vain while… looking for a solution.” They sounded hesitant.

“I want your people to live as long as fate wills it for them to do so, too. But for that, we need to make sure that a foolish decision isn’t claiming them sooner than it is meant to be. I will do everything in my power to make sure your people’s situation changes, but first, we need to avert the immediate crisis. Are you willing to help them one last time?” It was tiring. Every word felt like it drained her, but such was the way of things; she did not only speak to the fragmented memories of the body, but to the very soul of the individual. A rare talent amongst her ilk.

“You serve the Raven goddess, right? Promise to me that you will truly save them if I help you now.” A tricky requirement, but not one worded too carefully, making it easy to twist around.

“I’ll do whatever I can. That, I swear.” It wasn’t a lie. She just didn’t tell them that she had no power to do anything of the sorts. What can a mere Sentinel wish to accomplish against the government? “Now, the names.”

A whirlwind of emotions took hold of her as they touched her cheek, knowledge she wished to gleam from them rushing in her veins like she was born with it, a weird mixture of excitement and fear. Her vision became a complete blur, losing concentration as she closed her eyes once more, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the throbbing headache, likely caused by her collapse onto the floor. Her breathing was heavy as she came to consciousness in the living word, feeling a warm palm against her forehead and the features of the two faces staring down at her, slowly gaining back their sharpness as her eyes focused.

– Worry not, ambassadors. – the Reverend explained, his voice sounding more confident than before through the ringing of her ears, seemingly a bit reassured to be in a situation where he knows what’s happening more than the two mages. – Sentinel Vasille’s gifts with the dead are as trying as they are useful. She just needs a few moments to collect herself.

– True. – she sounded weaker than she wanted to, and while she hated to admit it, the quick disappearance of whoever’s hand left her to realise how truly cold she became. Nevertheless, she pulled herself up with both hands seeking support on the slab, then faced the ambassadors. A few of the candles have burned down since, suggesting that the time passing here was a bit longer than she anticipated, and with the flickering lights, she almost thought she could see traces of worry on the faces turned towards her. – They didn’t know the names of one another, but if they didn’t lie, the others had the orders to bring the Key to Velitrae and pass it to the Palatine, so that’s likely where they headed.

She got no answer, a dishevelled, sweaty brow rising in question when the mages looked at each other and the Reverend’s face fell. She awkwardly smoothed over her half-breastplate in another surge of needing to do something with her hands as she waited for someone to speak. Erlathan was the one to break the silence.

– Velitrae was burned down by their own extremists two days ago. – a long finger curled under his chin, making him appear as if he was deep in thought while he spoke. – Apparently their Palatine was doing a poor job for quite some time, and some people organized a revolt which got out of hand, given that the bulk of the Skyriders were busy making their way home through a very much riled up empire where we were on the lookout for them. That’s unfortunate for them, given that the Palatine died during the attack on the palace, and for us, because we haven’t really moved forward by this interrogation. No offense, Sentinel Vasille.

– None taken. – she shook her still pounding head, not helping the ache and making it hard to think, and the never fading gazes of molten gold and shining steel did little to help. – Though I do believe that this was still at least half a step forward. The next should be a visit to whatever remains of Velitrae and go from there. The Skyriders must have gone there, maybe even before the revolt happened. The Key might be there, and if not, there will be at least traces of magic, which I’m sure you can track.

– Their King is much more cunning than to let such a relic stay in a border city. – Lyndis absentmindedly traced the edge of the granite slab, turning her gaze away from Saile’thalle, her voice reflecting mild frustration. – What we might try, though, is to see if we can commune with the dead Palatine and get some clues. As far as my knowledge lets me believe, there is no spell which would hinder your abilities to speak with the soul itself, and believe me, I know a lot about such magic. If we can exhume the body—

– Which would be sacrilege and against what the Promise of Winter advocates for. – the Reverend cut her off, earning a disapproving look for himself, but it seemed to be that his faith and conviction was stronger than his fear. – If that is your plan, to dig up a body that has been already laid to rest and given to our Matron, then you are forbidden to bring Sentinel Vasille with you. Those are High Sentinel Ludan’s words.

– I believe that Sentinel Vasille can make a decision herself, and if she sees what we ask of her as offensive regarding her beliefs, we cannot force her to commune with the departed, nor would we want to. – Erlathan’s voice carried a sort of power in them that almost managed to shake Saile’thalle to her very core as she was about to answer to the Reverend. – I am also here to supervise the relations between our head necromancer and the Promise of Winter’s representative and make sure that there is no grave offense committed against either side while there’s also progress made. I trust you are not questioning my ability to be a mediator between the two sides.

– Your Reverence. – Saile’thalle raised her voice, drawing attention back at her and silencing the budding argument. – Sir Leorieth is correct. My last forty-three years provided enough experience to decide on such matters myself, and I hope you do not doubt my loyalty to our cause. However, it is important that we do whatever we can as to not tangle the threads of fate affecting many, many other people, and this, from my perspective, involves securing the stolen Key. If the ambassadors here think that my talents may prove useful, then I believe I should accompany them. That would also be an assurance that there’s no sacrilege committed as a means to an end. It was also High Sentinel Ludan’s order, and if he believes I can be of help, then I wish to try my best.

The Reverend had no retort – while he was the one who was supposed to be in charge, it was also quite apparent that he did not have the guts to order around someone who has served the goddess for almost as long as he has lived.

– I trust in your abilities, Sentinel Vasille. – the man exhaled, his expression contorting for a second in what may have been defeat. – May She cast her gaze upon you and soothe out the tangles of your fate in your mission. I do ask you that you write me a report of the Revenant before you take your leave, as this might take longer than we anticipated.

– Understood. – she then glanced at the ambassadors. – That will only require a few hours. I assume you don’t have a means of teleportation to enemy territory, so we’re going to ride, in which case it’s best we meet at The Lucky Basilisk, which is close to both a tailor and the stables, both something that we’ll need before we depart, but do correct me if you had other plans.

– You are not mistaken. – Lyndis sounded a bit flabbergasted at the sudden change of Saile’thalle taking the lead, promoting herself from passive onlooker to an active part of the conversation, stripping from her cautious formalities. – Why the tailor, though?

– Because I highly doubt that making such a long journey in attire like yours is advisable. You may have forgotten, given your comfortable ways of transport, but bandits exist around roads, and I would despise being delayed because you two wear a fortune’s worth of silver and gold on your clothing. Do excuse me, then. – a curt nod was all she gave them as a goodbye, then strode out with confident steps, head held high despite the pain still not abating, catching a fleeting glimpse of the Reverend’s badly concealed smirk. The corridors echoed as she left the three of them behind, a newfound, yet still not entirely realised purpose fuelling her determination.


End file.
